


Doomed

by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)



Series: The Ruin [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Status Ailments, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/mako_lies
Summary: Prompto is doomed, and Ignis finds waiting is the most difficult part.





	Doomed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Promnis week’s prompt: Status Ailment.
> 
> Notes: This is set in a much larger universe that is vaguely AU. Basically all you need to know is that Ignis is still blind, but Ravus came with them at the end of game. Also, mentions of past/lapsed Ignis/Prompto/Gladio/Noctis.

Under the typical sounds of battle, unmistakable, is Prompto’s near swallowed cry. A gunshot follows.

The Ahriman before him cries when it falls. Flying creatures had been difficult enough before he donned the Ring. Now—he’s lucky they have a distinctive swooping cry. Even Professor Yeager cannot say for certain what gave rise to the Ahriman—if they are daemonic or mutation, or perhaps both.

“Prompto?” he calls, even as he shifts to catch another swooping Ahriman on his dagger. Hot acrid blood pours over his hands.

“Iggy? You okay?” Prompto’s voice wavers, wetness gathered in his throat, as though he is near tears. It has been a long time since he heard Prompto cry in a fight. Not since they set out from Insomnia those long years ago.

“Fine. Yourself?” Ignis buries his blade in the thick hide of an Ahriman.

“Uhm…” Prompto’s gun sounds, and he laughs like some cowed wild thing. “Gimme a sec. Just—gotta—get the last one…” The gunfire. The fall. Until all that remains is Prompto’s ragged breathing and Ignis’s own traitor heart. Beating and beating, yearning for some connection postponed. How long since he’s been with Prompto?

Prompo’s affection was once given so freely, even when the four were still navigating the initial days of their romantic relationship. Ignis hates to say that he cannot pinpoint when that stopped. Sometime in the past few years, he thinks. This darkness has taken much from them.

“Igs… You uh… you got a Phoenix Down on you by chance?” Prompto’s voice is thready.

A worrisome rawness to him that sinks deep beneath Ignis’s skin. Precious few remain, to be used only in the direst of circumstance. “I indeed have one. Prompto, tell me what has happened.”

Prompto’s breath hitches, and Ignis immediately banishes his daggers. He strips his gloves so that he may see, a hand pressed to the curve of Prompto’s jaw. HIs skin is clammy and likely a terrible ashen pallor. “Poison?”

“Doom,” Prompto whispers, and with that flair of the dramatic he won’t admit runs strongly in him, his knees buckle.

Ignis accepts his weight, gentling them to the ground so that Prompto may rest his head on Ignis’s lap. It isn't difficult to recall all he’s learned about Status Ailments—through both study and far too much personal experience. The knowledge has become invaluable the longer they live in darkness.

Doom, the imminent near-death. Without immediate treatment, it’s almost always fatal. Worse, the only known treatment is application of Phoenix Down—evidently it acts far too quickly for the afflicted to be moved to an appropriate medical facility. Even Remedies, potent though they may be, are utterly useless. “How can you be certain?”

“I—I—I’ve been hit with it before. It… I’m sure, Iggy. Dunno how much… How much longer I have?”

Ignis stops himself from asking under what circumastances Prompto had been afflicted by the ailment. And who was there to revive him when he was. (How little he knows of Prompto’s life these days—have they grown so far apart?)

Ignis swallows thickly—if he didn’t have this final Down—he pets Prompto’s sweaty hair even as he locates that precious feather. “You’re safe, Prompto,” he murmurs, and hopes it’s true. He clutches the Down as tightly as he clutches his lover.

“Do we—the nearest haven is—are we..?” Prompto’s teeth chatter and Ignis can feel the chill emanating from his flesh.

Prompto typically runs warm—hot, even—and he recalls nights in the tent, curled against Prompto like he was a furnace. The heat of him is normally comforting: as though his characteristic brightness must burn through his skin. “We’re safe enough for now. I sense no daemons near us. Relax. I am here. I will not let you leave us.”

Not more than they had already permitted Prompto stray. Since the sun had fled—Ignis can admit he’s been distracted by the mundanities of holding the rifts of Lestallum closed by hand, aided by Aranea and Ravus and Grace. Though Ignis met Gladio frequently—Gladio was often in Lestallum to visit Grace, to ensure nothing had happened to his mother—Prompto was in town rarely enough it could only be by design. Though the constant technological maintenance required in the outskirts kept him busy, it surely couldn’t require his constant attention.

Still, Gladio and Ignis—they should be better about touching base. If they were going to change Noct’s destiny, they needed a more united front.

“Thanks…Iggy.” His teeth chatter enough he can barely get the words out. His hand darts up and his icy fingers trace a path up Ignis’s cheek. His thumb work circles into Ignis’s temple. An awkward angle, but Prompto makes do. His voice is raspy, broken from the clacking of his teeth. “Iggy… I’m—I’m sorry. This uh. Wasn’t how I wanted to—I haven’t. Really. Really been there for you? Lately? And I—Just—Love you, still. I want you to know that.”

Ignis knows he can breathe fine, but for a moment, it feels like he is the one doomed. The air simply refuses to enter his lungs.

This is intolerable.

Waiting for the life to flee Prompto, though the feather is clasped tightly in his hand. If he could switch with Prompto and face, once again, his own demise, he would. “Prompto… Hush now, darling. There is nothing to apologize for. I’m here.”

Prompto sucks in a sharp breath. Ignis can hear the way it rattles, can feel the way his slim form heaves for every gasp of air. The fight that Prompto puts up to survive, even as his body is chill as the Glacian’s.

The hand on Ignis’s face spasms with the rest of his body, but it is unbearably weak. “Prompto, love, don’t—” Don’t go, he means to say, but the word won’t come out.

What if the magick has fled the feather? What if Ignis misjudges when to apply it, and is either too soon or too late? He has no other—Ignis’s own breath catches. “Iggy,” and he can feel the heat of tears on Prompto’s chill skin. “Hey, Iggy—Sorry—I…Iggy, you’re—love you, yeah?” The words tumble out of him, desperate, a race against a clock they can both feel—even if them cannot caculate it to exact moments.

He does not think he could bear to tell Gladio if he fails in this. It was supposed to be a simple, short venture to a tomb while checking the lights at the nearby haven. Not this.

He clutches Prompto to himself impossibly tighter even as Prompto’s body begins to slow, the shivers stopping—Ignis presses his lips to the crown of his head, one hand holding Prompto tight to him, the other clutching what must be his salvation. They cannot lose him. Ignis cannot.

Not on his watch. Not ever. And he cannot be the one to explain to Noctis—when he returns—

He hears the wheeze—another—and feels Prompto’s hands clawing at his own throat—no air—he can’t breathe. Astrals—

He has to wait. The Phoenix Down will do no good until he falls—

Another failed breath—

Another—

He feels Prompto clutch sharper at his throat, as if he can unclog it.

Ignis catches his hands in one of his, so that he cannot claw himself too badly. He curls over him protectively, hoping it is of some comfort.“I’m here, love,” he says, but it feels hollow on his tongue. “Prompto—”

No sound escapes, and then Prompto is still. Silence, save for the rapid beat of Ignis’s heart. Prompto’s cold body is utterly motionless. Surely now?

Ignis finally presses the potent feather into his chest. That moment of anxiety—what if it doesn’t save him?

And then Prompto sucks in a deep breath, choking on it in his haste. He coughs, sitting up almost entirely by his own power. Relief floods through Ignis, even before sympathy. Being awoken by a Phoenix Down is wholly unpleasant. Like lightning burning through the veins and leaving anxious adrenaline in its wake.

They must hurry to the haven before Prompto comes down from that short, brutal burst of energy. Yet Ignis cannot stop himself from crushing Prompto into an embrace, though he fears perhaps he is overstepping. His lips slide across any stretch of skin he can find. Prompto’s face, he discovers, as stubble scratches against the chapped skin of his mouth.

Prompto heaves a dry sob and fumbles to hug Ignis back. “Iggy,” he whispers, hoarse, again and again.

“I’m here, love. I’ve got you. You’re here.” He finds Prompto’s lips and kisses him.

Kisses him like he hasn’t in so long. Prompto straddles Ignis’s waist, body pressed up hot against him, and Prompto opens for him like there has been no gap. Like they last kissed only today.

Permission granted, Ignis pours as much of himself into the kiss—into Prompto—as he can. He cradles Prompto’s face in both hands, keeping him close, and hums when Prompto tugs at his hair. Kissing fiercly even as Prompto jerks back to suck in deep breaths before diving right back in.

Desperate, as though Prompto cannot decide if he craves air or affection more. Unusual for him. Affection is his typical preference.

Ignis pulls back with great reluctance, but puts only enough space between them to breathe words against Prompto’s parted lips. “We must return to the haven. Can you walk?”

(Could he navigate them to the haven himself? Ignis fears he couldn’t, but a common enough fear. He must not focus on what he cannot do.)

“I’m going to have to. We can… We can hit up the tomb tomorrow? Is that okay?” Tentatively. Perhaps Ignis has been single-minded in his desire to save Noctis from the fate Pryna showed him…

“Of course.”

It’s a joint effort to rise, neither wanting to create space between them. Once they’re standing, Ignis doesn’t release his hand. Nor does he don his gloves. Instead, he feels the heated skin beneath his as Prompto slowly finds their way back to the haven. Shifts his thumb to feel the steady beat of Prompto’s heart. Safe. They’re safe.

(But what will they do? It was Ignis’s last Phoenix Down. He doesn’t know where they might find others. Prompto has survived today, but what of tomorrow?)

Ignis’s chest is tight when they reach the haven. Prompto is quiet a moment, then he pulls Ignis into a hug. “I’m here,” he says.

And Ignis can only wonder—for how long?—even as he holds Prompto tight. For now, he doesn’t have to let go. He won’t let go.


End file.
